


Before the Climb

by KeeperOfUntoldDreams



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Frisk is innocent, Good Parent Bad Environment, Implied Violence, Male Frisk (Undertale), Pre-Undertale, single parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperOfUntoldDreams/pseuds/KeeperOfUntoldDreams
Summary: Set before Undertale.A look at the dynamic between Frisk and his dad (Mettle), before Frisk climbed Mt. Ebott.(You can see further insight into Mettle's character in my fic "Dark Corners")
Relationships: Frisk & Frisk's Father





	Before the Climb

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a while, so I just did a little something.
> 
> I love writing Mettle (my version of Frisk's dad).

On a tepid, overcast evening, at the start of the summer season, an eight-year-old Frisk was watching his father get ready for work. The boy could smell the strange, cloying perfume that Mettle often put on; Frisk did not know why he wore or even had the perfume, all his father told him was that it was "for work."

"Good news, Frisk," Mettle said, fastening the buttons of his oversized trenchcoat, "I just went shopping earlier, so, tomorrow, we'll actually have satisfactory options for meals."

The young man then turned back to notice his son looking very unhappy.

"Hey, now, pine nut, don't make that face," Mettle soothed, "I should be back by morning."

"I know, that's not the issue," Frisk sighed.

Mettle knelt down in front of his son to hear him out.

"Daddy," Frisk said as he raised his head to look his dad in the eyes, "I don't like your job."

Mettle's eyes widened in response.

"How much do you know?" he asked warily.

"I know that it's hard," Frisk voiced, "and that it hurts; you always come home hurt, I hate it, I hate seeing you hurt."

Frisk swallowed his urge to cry, holding eye contact with his father.

"Why do you have to do this job, daddy?" Frisk questioned dismally.

Mettle closed his eyes momentarily, his gaze shifting to the floor as he found the words to respond.

"Well, it's like I've said before, Frisk," he explained, "I have to work, so we can live."

"I know that," Frisk asserted, "by why _this_ job?"

With a pensive smile, Mettle placed his hands on his son's shoulders.

"Frisk, this job is all I know, it's all I've ever been good at...all I've ever been good for," he expressed, "yeah it's hard and unpleasant, but, it's...it's work. Work that lets me provide what we need to live, and if it means taking damage, then so be it."

Frisk looked on, still looking displeased.

"You'll understand when you're older." Mettle assured him.

The young man pulled his son into a tight hug, kissed his forehead, then stood up.

"All right, sweetie, I really do have to go now," Mettle said as he headed out the door, "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Frisk mumbled as he watched the door shut.

Frisk spent his evening as he normally did, fixing himself a snack, watching television, and playing on the cell phone Mettle had bought him in case of emergencies until it was bedtime. When he was younger, he would keep himself occupied with the few toys that Mettle had bought for him, but, he had since outgrown them.

" _You'll understand when you're older._ " his father's words echoed in his head.

In Frisk's mind, he had come to interpret the phrase to mean, "This is a serious adult matter that a child shouldn't know about so I'm not going to tell you." He also came to see it less as his father trying to allay his concerns and more him trying to get him to drop the matter so he did not have to give him any more details.

* * *

Come morning, Frisk awoke to the sound of the door opening, "Frisk," Mettle announced, "I'm home."

Without a second thought, Frisk rolled out of bed and ran out to the living area just as Mettle was closing the door behind him.

"Daddy!" Frisk uttered happily as he rushed to his dad.

"Hey, baby." Mettle sighed tiredly.

Mettle stumbled a bit as he knelt down to his son's level, but quickly regained what composure he could as his son promptly hugged him.

"Did you sleep well?" the young brunette man asked.

"Yeah," his son replied as he pulled away.

Frisk immediately flinched upon seeing his father's face, which was blotted with deep bruises that accompanied a particularly nasty shiner that encircled Mattle's right eye. It was a sight that Frisk was used to, not that he accepted it at all. When he was younger, Frisk would immediately ask his father how he got his injuries, but, Mettle would always dismiss his concerns and underplay his condition, by waving it off as work being rough.

"How was work?" the boy asked meekly.

"Ah, same as always," Mettle expressed, his voice husky, "boring and repetitive."

The young man looked at the ground for a moment, then back at his son.

"Now," Mettle voiced, "I am starving, let's make some breakfast."

He got to his feet.

"I got some more of those microwave turnovers we love," he told Frisk.

Frisk nodded with a resigned smile and took his father's marred hand as they went to the kitchen area.

**Author's Note:**

> You can probably guess what Mettle's occupation is in this story, but, if you want to know for sure, read my fic "Dark Corners" to get the definitive answer.


End file.
